Second Kiss

by Robert Priest

  “Well, let me tell you something that I learned the hard way. When thugs grab you like that, they do not deserve to be fought like gentlemen. The very best thing to do when someone grabs you from behind is to stamp your heel down as hard as you can on their foot.”

  Xemion nodded.

  “I know it is not gallant. But, when necessary, it is quite effective.”

  Xemion tried to smile, but he was still too full of rage and that other, colder feeling: Fear.

  “We’ve all been awaiting your arrival,” he said at last.

  “I’m sure you have. We’ve only just sailed into the harbour this past hour,” Vallaine said. “We have a cargo of fruits and vegetables from the southern islands, so I know the hungry, at least, will be very happy to see us.”

  “People feared you were lost,” Xemion said, not meeting Vallaine’s eyes.

  “Not lost, but becalmed. On a heavenly isle, no less.”

  “And you delivered the one called Tharfen back to her village?”

  Vallaine laughed. “Not before she made a thorough bother and nuisance of herself.”

  “Talk of stones and slings?”

  “Constant.”

  “She was beaten by an examiner quite badly before we left. We didn’t know it, but the man followed us and he almost caught up with us. He would have gotten away from the Vale of Two Wells, but just as he was going to drink the water that would have opened the gateway, Tharfen shot a stone at him with her sling and smashed the bottle right out of his hands.”

  “She does have amazing accuracy. I remember it from our day in Ilde.”

  “I don’t know if she still does. I think what happened to the examiner after that might have done something to her aim. The ghouls there at the wells all had their heads twisted round backward, and when they caught him they did that same thing to him.”

  Vallaine grimaced and smiled at the same time. “It sounds like he got what he deserved. Is it true that her father is a pirate?”

  “That is the story. Other than the red hair, which she got from her mother, she looks nothing like her seven brothers.” Xemion shrugged. “Of course, none of them look like one another. Torgee says it’s because they all had different fathers.”

  “I saw her mother when I delivered her brat back to her. She is a great beauty and a powerful woman.”

  “Did Tharfen give you any message for me?”

  “No. Not one.” Then he looked lightly at Xemion. “Why? What message do you await? Might it perhaps be about your betrothed?”

  Xemion looked away. “We were side-by-side in the Panthemium when the Pathan Prince burst in, and in all the chaos we got separated. They promised me I would see her the day after we arrived, but something happened.”

  By now they had come to the crossroads leading up to the castle and the underdome. “Which way are you going, Xemion?”

  Xemion pointed in the direction of the castle.

  “At this time of night?” Vallaine asked. “Well, I’m going that way too. Why don’t I join you?” He paused before continuing. “And why don’t you tell me exactly what’s been going on.”

  Something in Xemion wanted to hold back the truth, but as they proceeded he blurted it out anyway, the whole story about what had happened since he’d last seen Vallaine: the first kiss, the separation, the scribing, the riddle in the locket, and, finally, the missing classic. When he had finished, he saw that Vallaine was looking at him doubtfully.

  “You are a noble fellow, Xemion,” he said with a mixture of sympathy and merriment. “But I did tell you to destroy that painted sword of yours, did I not? If Montither has done one good thing in his life, it is in finally ridding you of it.”

  Xemion shrugged as Vallaine continued. “Still, I thank you on behalf of the Phaer Literature. I’m sure the one you saw at the front was Saheli, but I know nothing will settle it for you until you have seen her face with your own eyes. And that chance, fortunately, will come soon enough by the sound of it. But in the meantime, I am wondering how anything as small as a locket could possibly contain as many books as you have described.”

  “They are as small as fish scales.”

  “But even if it were conceivable for someone to have scribed such tiny texts, how could you possibly have read them?”

  “We had a device called a sunscope in the observatory where I lived, and at the right time of evening it could catch the setting sunlight and use it to project the texts onto the walls. I have read them with my own eyes.”

  “Yes, I am well aware of sunscopes. Marvellous devices. But they were invented for the examination and study of the microcosm. I don’t imagine their inventors expected them to be used for such a purpose as reading tiny little books. Very clever of you,” Vallaine said. Then he added, somewhat skeptically, “Perhaps you could show me this locket.” Again Xemion had an urge to resist, but he couldn’t. He pulled the locket out into the light, holding it in his uninjured palm so Vallaine could see it. Vallaine let his red hand hover over the locket.

  “Xemion, have you ever wondered whether there might be some spellcraft involved with this locket?”

  “Certainly not. It was crafted by tiny Numian Thralls.”

  Now Vallaine looked truly amused. “Xemion, surely you are jesting with me.”

  “I’m not.” Xemion said indignantly closing his fist about the locket and quickly stuffing it back into his pocket.

  Vallaine shook his head to clear away his mirth and then responded in as solemn a voice as possible. “Xemion, you have never seen a tiny Numian Thrall, have you?”

  “Of course not. But—”

  “That’s because there is no such thing as a tiny Numian Thrall.”

  Xemion’s jaw dropped a little and he turned red. “How do you know that?”

  “Xemion, they are just the stuff of children’s stories.”

  There was a long, silent pause. At last, in a much quieter voice, Xemion acknowledged “Anya Kuzelnika did often make up stories to teach me things.”

  “It’s not uncommon,” Vallaine said with a nod. “So, concerning how your locket came to be—”

  A cold feeling crept into Xemion’s skin as he remembered how close to her heart Saheli who was so terrified of magic had worn it. “You think it was spellcrafted?”

  “Class C, I suspect. That means it wasn’t created by a spell but it has been altered by a spell, or even two spells. I doubt the books themselves are spellworked. They’ve probably only been shrunk by a spell to protect them. That would have to have been at least fifty years ago. After the spell fire, the last of the mages, before the Pathans caught them and hung them, used their final energies to shrink as many things as they could to make them easier to hide. They might even revert to normal size one day. But you’re going to have some explaining to do to Glittervein tomorrow.”

  Now Xemion was truly alarmed. “Tomorrow? But I’m leaving here early in the morning.”

  Vallaine’s brow creased and his lips pursed. He pulled on one side of his long moustache. “But this is a real problem. If you give this to Sarabin he will be honour-bound to bring it to Glittervein and tell him where he got it. Glittervein, I assure you, will not be at all pleased. He will destroy it immediately and then he will definitely want to talk to you.”

  “I have been told to leave tomorrow by direct order of Veneetha Azucena,” Xemion asserted angrily.

  Vallaine continued to puzzle it over. “See now, I know there was no intention on your part to smuggle the locket in. You have acted honourably. It would be a shame to have your trip delayed over such a technicality. Why don’t I take your locket. I will submit it to Mr. Glittervein and tell him I found it in my travels, and you will say nothing to anyone about it.”

  Xemion considered this for a moment. “I would have to tell Saheli when I see her,” he said at last. “She will notice it’s gone.”

  “Tell her, then, but only if she asks and not before. The less said the better. It’s safest that way.”

 
; Xemion nodded uncertainly.

  “That’s the spirit, Xemion,” Vallaine said. “Put it there.” His red hand reached out to shake Xemion’s, but noticing Xemion flinch, he switched in mid-course and shook the young man’s left hand instead. Xemion felt the familiar jolt of energy as their palms met.

  “But what will happen to the books when you turn the locket in?” Xemion asked.

  “If he has even the slightest suspicion that a spell mage was involved in its creation, Glittervein will have no choice but to incinerate them.”

  “But what of the missing classic?” Xemion protested. “There must be a way to take it out and copy it? Captain Sarabin said it is a very significant book.”

  “Well,” Vallaine let loose with that sonorous laugh of his, “Captain Sarabin thinks all books are very significant. And so do we all, but that would be up to Glittervein. He would probably burn it in his smithy.”

  “But it is a shame for us to destroy our own literature.”

  “You have a point. Here then, Xemion. This is what I’ll do. I will take the locket first to my tower and quarantine it. I have a sunscope of my own — more powerful even than that ancient one you described. Let me tinker with the locket a while and see if I can extract the book in question, and if I can, I’ll hold onto it until I can get it copied.”

  Xemion thought about it, then nodded. “Please.”

  “But you mustn’t say a word. You mustn’t acknowledge it in any way. I could get in a lot of trouble, not only with Glittervein, but with my lady Veneetha Azucena.”

  Xemion nodded.

  “Do we swear then?” Vallaine asked.

  “I swear,” Xemion said, though he sounded a bit unsure. Vallaine shook Xemion’s left hand for quite a long time, nodding his head and smiling as he did so. Xemion smiled back and held up his end of the shaking and nodding.

  “So then …” Vallaine let the hand go at last.

  “So … what?” asked Xemion, his heart beating fast.

  “So … are you going to give me the locket?”

  Again, something in Xemion made him hesitate before reaching into his pocket and handing the locket over. Vallaine stashed the tiny library inside his chameleon cloak. “Well, Xemion, I’ve got a full cargo to get unloaded and a fair maid to see. You’re a good man and you’ve done the right thing here. I’ve saved you from harm twice now, but I may not be around to save you a third time. Be wary of those cowards and don’t be ashamed to do them harm if they would harm you.” He reached out and once more shook Xemion’s left hand exhaustively. “And one more little piece of advice. If I were you, I would hide that voice of yours. It has deepened since you and I first met and even here in Ulde it is likely to get you in trouble.”

  Xemion nodded woefully. Vallaine smiled, and in his most monotone manner said, “And so I bid you adieu.” With that he tipped his tricorne hat, tossed a strand of his long black hair over his shoulder, wrapped the camouflage cloak about his body, and rapidly walked off into the gathering fog.

  13

  Pleas and Demands

  For a few moments Xemion felt a pang of regret for having given up the locket, but the feeling soon passed. Nor did he miss for long the painted sword that Montither had flung into the swamp. Even the urge to track down Montither and have at him one-on-one quickly faded. In fact, despite the ringing in his ears and the pain in his palm, he felt liberated and lighter with each step he took toward his quarters.

  Soon he would see Saheli.

  He had even forgotten the jealousy he had felt toward Torgee — or anyone else. She was his warrior beloved. She had chosen him with a kiss. He had no doubt. His ordeal was almost over and soon he would see her.

  The night was settling in cool and quite foggy, but Xemion made his way through the narrow streets with the first bit of spring he’d had in his steps in a long time.

  Not far from his quarters, a guttural voice spoke right behind him.

  “I beg.”

  Xemion turned around alarmed and saw that it was Musea’s black dog, Bargest, who now began creeping along beside him. The dog had obviously encountered some mud on his journey, for his usual pink finery was wet, ragged, and filthy. He nudged Xemion’s hand with his snout.

  “Bargest. What are you doing out here? Shouldn’t you be at the underdome?”

  “I beg you, help me,” the dog implored with a look of loss so intense that Xemion couldn’t help but feel compassion for the poor creature. He almost knelt to pat him but stopped, repelled by something disjointed in the dog’s spell-crossed gaze.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “I beg you. Ease my pain.”

  “Bargest, I have nothing to ease your pain. I’m sorry. But, is it safe for an animal so affected by spellcraft like you to be loose out here?”

  “I beg.”

  “You should go back to the underdome, Bargest. I’m sorry.”

  “I beg you to own me, Xemion. Even if just for—”

  “I have no need of a dog. Especially not a spell-crossed dog. Besides, I’m leaving in the morning for a place where dogs may not go.”

  “I could go if I were your war dog. Please, let me be the one who finds you bread when you are hungry.”

  “Bargest, there are so many others here who would love to have a dog like you.”

  “I beg. Let me be the one who shouts when you are voiceless.”

  “No, I’m sorry, Bargest.” Xemion was trying to harden his heart to the animal’s pleading, but it wasn’t easy. There was something about him that reminded Xemion of Chiricoru, the spell-crossed bird he had been raised with and who had died on their journey to Ulde. Taking pity, he knelt and undid the clasps and ribbons that bound the muddy pink outfit to the dog’s body. Perhaps this was a mistake, for it seemed to energize the dog’s hopes and he began to leap about a bit as he begged.

  “I beg you, lord. You would never need for a friend ever, ever, ever again, my friend.”

  “No, sorry, Bargest.”

  “Please.”

  By now Xemion had reached his door. “I’m sorry, Bargest, but you cannot be my dog and you cannot come with me. I’ll be leaving in the morning. I’ve made up my mind and nothing will change it.”

  The moon shone down through the thickening fog, and the grief and yearning in the dog’s heart was released as he lifted up his snout and emitted a long, pitiful howl. But Xemion was not to be deterred. “Go home!” he said as severely as he could. Though it was a hard thing to do, he closed the door behind him. A high-pitched crying continued outside the door.

  “Please,” the dog whined, “I beg you.”

  Xemion found he could not be as hard-hearted as he wished to be. He pulled open the door and patted the poor dog’s head. “I’m really sorry, Bargest,” he said gently. “You are a wonderful dog, but I have to leave in the morning, and I can’t take you with me.”

  “I beg you.”

  “Yes, but I am begging you, Bargest. Please return to the underdome.”

  “But—”

  “I beseech you, Bargest. They will be worried about you. They will be searching for you.”

  “But—”

  “I beg you, Bargest, go.”

  Stymied by this reversal, Bargest looked up into Xemion’s eyes and licked his hand before turning away. Xemion watched him plod along the cobblestones until he reached the street that led to the castle, at which point the dog turned his head and glanced back. In a heart-rending voice he called out: “But please do not try to keep me from serving you, from calling you master.”

  Xemion waved him on.

  “I will be calling you master anyway. I will be dreaming that you are master. I will be at your side even when I am not at your side.”

  ⚔

  It took Xemion a long time to fall asleep. Pain throbbed up his arm from his palm, where Montither had struck him. But it was more than the pain that kept him awake. He was remembering that small sliver of the terror he’d felt at that moment. And just when he thought he�
��d never shake that feeling, it suddenly changed. Instead, Saheli’s smiling, welcoming face hovered before him, beckoning him onward. That painful tingling he felt was her hand in his hand — the way it had been as they passed the Great Kone. Two more breaths and the tingling became the sword. Criss and cross, it sang in his grip. His last thought before he slipped into slumber was of Vallaine and the look in his eyes when he had spoken to Xemion outside the Great Kone. What had he said? “You have a great destiny and those who have great destinies have the least choice in the matter.”

  Ha! he thought.

  Xemion was awoken a few hours later by a loud knock on the door. When he opened it, thick fog, illumined by a tallow lamp, streamed in. Xemion didn’t recognize the person who stood there, but he was huge — easily two feet taller than Xemion and twice as wide at the shoulders. The hood of a grey cloak hung over most of the upper portion of his face, but below it, a large jutting slab of stubbled chin and a tight mouth with crooked teeth remained in view. “Glittervein!” the figure growled, pointing with his thumb in the general direction of the castle.

  “Who are you?” Xemion asked nervously.

  The man reached into his cloak and showed Xemion a seal with a gorehorse embossed on it. “Glittervein,” he said, with exactly the same tone and jerk of thumb as before.

  “I have to leave here early in the morning,” Xemion protested. He thought he’d encountered everyone in the colony but he had never met anyone as large as this man before. He was sure of it.

  “Glittervein,” the man repeated, adding, perhaps for variety, “now.”

  A chill of fear ran through Xemion as he threw on his clothes. Had Vallaine betrayed him? At first it hardly seemed possible, but then he remembered Saheli’s mistrust of the man, and his suspicion began to deepen. On the way to the castle, the fog grew so dense that the hooded man sometimes had to find his way by running his hands along the walls or sweeping the way ahead with his staff.

  When they arrived at the castle, a grumpy guard opened a broad wooden door to let them in. Xemion and his taciturn guide proceeded down a long hallway, which here and there was dimly lit with a candle or the red glow of embers in exhausted incense pots. Through foggy corridors they walked into a banquet hall, lavishly renovated by the Nains in the ancient Elphaerean style. Down the centre of the room ran a long marble table containing the remains of the previous night’s supper. The floors were jewelled mosaics and great tapestries hung on the walls.